Chapter 10 chapter Ten

Williams sat in the corner of the café at the White Hart Hotel, enjoying a belated dinner.Grant was preparing his portion at the bar.Williams, with the assistance of the local police, had been running all afternoon on one of Grant's hypotheses—Searle's disappearance of his own accord. But despite his fatigue, he still got nothing.At about ten o'clock, after interviewing the twenty-third bus driver and the last railway supervisor, he announced that the day was over.Now he's going to enjoy his dinner and beer and relax. "Nothing," he said of Grant's interrogation. "Nobody remembers seeing such a fellow. Sir, is there any progress on your side?"

"No major breakthroughs." "Can't you find a word in his stuff?" "No, it would have been in his wallet if it had been, and he took it with him. Only a few rolls of photographs were found. ""Photos?" Williams said, his ears perked up. "Some photos he took after he came here." "Oh, is there a picture of Whitemore's fiancée in there?" "A lot." "Really? Is it a personal salon photo?" "No, Williams, no. It's a very romantic picture, the kind where she's standing in front of a big field of almond blossoms in the sun."

"You mean, isn't she very photogenic? Blonde, isn't she?" "No, she is small, dark, and has plain features, but she has a pretty face." "Oh, then why did he shoot her? He must be in love with her." "I doubt it, too," said Grant, and fell silent when the food was brought to him. "You should try those pickles, once in a while, sir," said Williams. "They're really good." "This is the 507th time I've said 'no', I don't eat pickles. Williams, I have my own taste and I don't want to spoil it with pickles.In Seale's stuff I found clues of more value than photographs. "What is it, sir. "

"One of the girl's gloves," said Grant, who told him what he had found. "Well," Williams chewed his words and fell silent for a while, "it sounds like it's not far away." "what? " "A love affair, if he did steal her glove. Honestly, sir, it's hard to imagine what you could do with a glove at my age in this day and age." Grant laughed. "I tell you, she's a good girl. Tell me, Williams, what can you put in a space that's ten inches by three and a half inches by four inches?" "A big bar of soap." Williams said without thinking.

"Not quite. What else?" "cigarette boxes? " "No, he doesn't smoke." "Could it be food? That shape looks a bit like cheese." "impossible." "A revolver? It's a revolver case, I suppose." "I doubt it too. Then why is he carrying a revolver?" "Where did you say the vacancy was?" Williams asked.Grant then described the camera box and its contents to him. "No matter what was put there, it must be a three-dimensional thing, otherwise there would be no such clear edges and corners. None of the things he left behind fit into it, so there are only two possibilities, one is before he left It was taken by him, or someone else removed it after he disappeared."

"Such assumptions basically mean that someone at Trinity Manor deliberately hid the evidence. Do you still insist that Whitemore is not this type?" "What type?" "Murder type." "I think Whitemore probably has a better approach to small animals than to blood." "But if you're drowned and you don't see the blood, that's fine with a small animal. In the dark, he just needs to be deaf to the cries for help. Then he can pretend he's lost his memory and pretends he doesn't know anything." what. God knows how often this happens. "

"Are you assuming that Whitemore did it, or was it a semi-accident?" "I don't know if he did it or not, I just keep thinking Syl's still in the river now, sir." "But Inspector Rogers says he's been fishing all day." "But don't you forget that the Wickham police officer said that there is enough silt on the banks of the Roshmere River to spread to Australia." "I know, our boss has said the same, but the words are not so vivid!" "Well," Williams listened absently, and then said, "if he didn't drown, what's the chance? By all accounts, he's basically a man once you've seen it and you can't forget it."

Yes, that is true.Grant recalled images of the young man standing on Mark Roth's porch, and their specific description of the missing man was surprisingly poor. Male, early twenties, five feet eight, nine inches tall, slender, fair-skinned, gray eyes, high nose, prominent cheekbones, wide lips, hatless, gray duffel jacket with a tapered hoodie Waterproofs, gray pullovers, blue sporty T-shirts and gray flannels, brown American leather shoes with buckled socks instead of lace, and a deep American voice. No one could really identify Leslie Seale from such a description.On the other hand, as Williams said, if he really appeared in front of his eyes, no one would be able to turn his head to look at him with his eyes lit up.Indeed, it is impossible for those who saw him to forget him.

"Besides, what reason does he have to disappear?" Williams still pressed repeatedly. "I can't speculate until I know his background. I have to go to Scotland Yard early tomorrow morning. He seems to have a relative in England. She is also American. I want to find her. I always feel that the key that is about to break the ground will be In California instead of England." "Nobody from California poses a bigger mystery than Leslie Seale," Williams added. "That's right," said Grant, lost in thought; then the inhabitants of Trinian Park flashed before his eyes.

He's going to start gathering evidence tomorrow.Williams is right that Leslie Searle leaving without saying goodbye is a very wishful thinking indeed.He had already asked Elizabeth Gallopy if Searle was making a joke because he was dissatisfied with Walter's attitude, but she flatly rejected it.But if Elizabeth's deduction is wrong, how did the joke Searle work out? "And the passing cars were missed," he said aloud. "What do you mean, sir?" "We've checked all the public transport that should be checked, but we forgot about the motorists who were passing by, they might have given him a lift."

Williams smiled kindly with his mouth full of sausage and beer, looked at him and said, "Sir, you're making Route 57 look like a girls' school." "Route 57?" "You're dead, you're still stuck in the assumption that he's flying away with wings." "I was thinking he might walk along the river bank across the fields to the main road from Wickham to Clone and stop a passing car and go. I'll ask Bryce in tomorrow morning Announce the news of finding someone on the radio." "Then what happens after he gets in this car? What next? All his luggage is still in Cuining Manor." "How do we know, we don't know anything about him before Roth's party. All we know for sure is that he's a photographer. He says he only has one relative in England, but maybe he actually has half a dozen." What about my family and a dozen wives, who knows?" "Probably, but why didn't he wait for the trip to be over? After all, he still wanted to collect some pictures for the book, right? Why let things go out of tune?" "Maybe he was trying to embarrass Walt." "Really? You really think so? Why?" "Because from my own point of view, I don't mind embarrassing Walt." Grant said with a half smile, "Maybe it's just my own mental activity." "It's really embarrassing for Walt, though," Williams said without sympathy. "It's serious. Did you ever think that there might be a civil war?" "War?" "Loyal Whitemore fans against skeptics." "Is it that serious to him?" "I don't think he understands the seriousness now. He hasn't realized it yet, but I think he will when he reads the paper tomorrow." "Didn't the papers ask him himself?" "How do they have time? The reporter of "The Horn" ran to his door at five o'clock this afternoon to ask questions, but because they couldn't get any explanation, they immediately went to the Swan Bar to find news." "I think the Clarion must be running first. Whitemore better see who that reporter really is. Why doesn't he look?" "He's waiting for his lawyer to come from town, he said." "Who is that reporter, do you know? I mean The Clarion." "Jimmy Hopkins." "Jimmy! My ass is on fire when I mention Jimmy Hopkins. He's a guy with no conscience. If he doesn't get an interview, he makes up his own story like he puts on his clothes. You know, I'm beginning to sympathize with Walter Whitemore. Either he had better not have pushed Seale overboard, or Jimmy must never have a chance to think about it." "Then you say, who is the ugliest dead now?" Grant asked. [img][/img]